


Codename: Cheesecake

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Cottage of Lost Play, Games, Humor, M/M, Multi, Pet Names, horseplay - see what I did there?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Light banter between ex-lovers behind the Cottage of Lost Play on a warm afternoon.





	Codename: Cheesecake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnEllspethRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/gifts).



> Featuring Sassfaloth, the talking horse. (For those readers unfamiliar with Bunniverse, Asfaloth is able to morph between his horsie form and something resembling an elf that allows him greater mobility, ability to talk, and lots of sass.)
> 
> A small token of thanks to AnnEllspethRaven for keeping these muses talkative, and for putting up with me mentioning how today is Cheesecake Day at least three times last night.
> 
> By the way, dear reader, Happy Cheesecake Day 2018. (Yes, it's a real thing. Go get yourself some cheesecake and enjoy.)

Fingon and Maedhros were relaxing outdoors, each propped on his own side of the hammock, their legs and feet sprawled across the lap of the other. Their husbands were engaged in a game of keep away in the hot spring behind the Cottage of Lost Play, though it seemed that Asfaloth was the one winning on account of not really understanding the game and technically losing every round, but having the most fun of everyone in the water.

The ball in play suddenly landed in the hammock, thankfully without getting either book damp. “Sorry!” called out Asfaloth, the bells around his wrist jingling as he waved a hand to let them know that return of the ball would be appreciated.

Fingon took hold of it with his free hand. Asfaloth was near the middle of the pool, but Erestor was by the edge. “Cupcake! Catch!” Fingon threw the toy to the side, and it flew threw the air directly to Erestor, who almost immediately dived under the water with it.

The hammock swayed a little from the force it took for Fingon to toss the ball, disrupting Maedhros from his story. He set the book down and reached down to retrieve a beverage resting on the seat of a chair he had pulled up beside the hammock earlier to serve as a table. “You call Erestor ‘cupcake, so I feel it stands to reason you would call Glorfindel ‘cheesecake’, even though I have never heard you say it.”

Fingon had his own book open again, and he smirked as he pretended to keep reading. “Why do you think I would call Glorfindel that?”

“I think it makes a lot of sense. Glorfindel really likes cheesecake. I once watched him eat the remainder of one, which was over half, all on his own one afternoon between brushstrokes when he was painting.” Maedhros sipped his drink, and shook his head. “Well, it has to be something else close, then, because I know you. You like order and groups and he has to be some sort of cake. I mean, you might have used cup-something instead, but even you are not that ridiculous.”

“Do you want to guess, or do you want me to tell you?” asked Fingon as the ball sailed over them and bounced off into the weeds while Asfaloth again shouted, “Sorr-rrreee!”

“I tried guessing and you said I was wrong,” Maedhros reminded him. “Just tell me.”

Suddenly Gildor raced past, with Glorfindel hot on his heels. Gildor reached the ball first and managed to fling it back toward the water only a moment before Glorfindel hoisted him over his shoulder and took him to the pool. They wrestled back into the water with a giant splash. “Glorfindel,” said Fingon after he and Maedhros watched the commotion, “is honeycake. Honey, because he is golden, like honey. Also honey, because he is sweet--”

“Like honey,” spoke Maedhros at the same time Fingon said the words. “I still feel like the cheesecake is a missed opportunity.” Laughter rose up from the spring, and Maedhros smiled as he watched Gildor tread water with the ball balanced on his head. “Maybe I should adopt it for Gildor.”

“Oh, no, sorry, already taken,” Fingon informed him.

Maedhros frowned. “How can it be taken, if Erestor is cupcake, and Glorfindel is honeycake.”

Fingon shrugged, the familiar smirk on his lips again. “You tell me.”

“You are getting as bad as Erestor with riddles,” scolded Maedhros.

“I assure you, the answer is right in front of you.”

For a moment, Maedhros considered these words, and then pointed an accusing finger at Fingon. “Cheesecake.” 

Fingon smiled. “You were correct earlier when you said that Glorfindel really likes cheesecake.”

With a snort, Maedhros said, “I bet he eats you up in one sitting.”

“Incoming!” bellowed Gildor.

Both Maedhros and Fingon had enough warning to lift the books out of the way as the ball hit Fingon squarely in the chest, leaving a damp mark on his tunic before it bounced off into the weeds once more.

“Sorry!”

“Someone really needs to teach him how to play this game properly,” decided Fingon. “Good thing I happen to know an expert athlete trained in a variety of sports and exercises, including the noble game of keep-away, who is here to aid him.” Fingon carefully held the book above his head as he climbed out of the hammock. 

Maedhros also extricated himself and took possession of both of their books. “I will put these inside and join you. That gives me just enough time to come up with some good baking puns to use on you.”

“Oh, make sure you come up with at least one about cheesecake being firm yet fluffy,” suggested Fingon.

“I was thinking more like cheesy and takes a while to mature,” said Maedhros thoughtfully.

Fingon turned back around with his hands on his hips. “You, there, sir. Dare you call me, a prince of the realm, immature?”

“I mean… if the recipe fits…” murmured Maedhros as he continued to the door. Fingon was suddenly in front of him. “You are faster than I remember,” he said as he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Put the books down,” demanded Fingon as he stripped off his tunic and flung it haphazardly onto a nearby chair so that the sleeve dragged over the ground.

“Wh--oh. No, no.” Maedhros took a step back, realized that was where Fingon meant him to ultimately go, and dodged around. “I know what you are thinking and--”

“Then you know why you should put those books down,” said Fingon. He made a grab for Maedhros, but was evaded. “You have until the count of three. One…”

“Come on, now, you are not really going to--”

“Two…”

“I have books, Fin! Books! You are willing to get them soaked, and you call yourself a librarian?”

“Three.” Fingon pounced, and while Maedhros continued to move out of the way for a few seconds, Fingon soon had his ex-lover pinned against the house and was tickling him mercilessly. 

“Stop! Stop! Fin! I yield!” Maedhros managed amid his laughter, which had him doubled over, and yet still clinging to the books.

“Amateur--I take no prisoners!” Fingon made sure Maedhros was subdued with laughter, gasping through his chuckles, before he hoisted him over his shoulder. “Incoming!” Fingon announced as he made his way swiftly back to the spring before Maedhros could regain enough awareness to do more than toss the books on the hammock as he was carried past (which he did) and pinch his nose with his fingers before he was unceremoniously dunked into the spring (which he also did).

“Impressive,” complimented Gildor, who had left the water to retrieve the ball yet again and came now to stand beside Fingon, whose arms were crossed over his chest triumphantly. 

“Thank you,” said Fingon proudly.

“One problem,” said Gildor with concern as he wedged the ball under his left arm.

Fingon was about to ask what, but his lips were not quite parted with the first word when Gildor reached over, yanked Fingon’s cut off trousers down in the back, and gave him an unexpected slap on the ass that sent him flailing forward so that he stumbled into the water. 

Gildor waited for Fingon to resurface before he said as he looked at his palm, “My hand just has a mind of its own and does these incredibly unexpected things at the most remarkable times.”

“And it just ‘happened’ to get the idea to bare my butt and slap my ass?” questioned Fingon.

“I know! How strange!” Gildor continued to examine his hand until a hand on his shoulder caught him off-guard and he flinched. He looked up over his shoulder to see Asfaloth. “Oh! Oh, good, just you,” he said with relief as he looked around to make sure Fingon’s spouses were accounted for in the water.

“Hello there!” Asfaloth leaned a little on Gildor to keep him in place. “I have a message for you!”

Gildor narrowed his eyes. “A message for me?”

“Yes! From Glorfindel!” And Asfaloth grabbed the ball from Gildor with one hand while he gave him a great shove in the middle of his back with his other hand. Gildor became the next victim as he hit the water, sending a spray back up at the horse, who held the ball with great excitement. “Did I do good?” he asked as Gildor sputtered to the surface.

“Perfect!” commended Glorfindel.

“I love this game!” shouted Asfaloth as he held onto the ball and leaped into the water to join the others.


End file.
